


I Feel the Earth Move (Under My Feet)

by Roselightfairy



Series: Finding a Voice [10]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, First Time, Gimli is a grumpy Old, Interacts with two other stories, M/M, kind of, now or never kiss, overcoming internalized prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roselightfairy/pseuds/Roselightfairy
Summary: Frai has never trusted elves or men – and she has never doubted that distrust before. But after a family friend sought to commit treason – and betrayed her trust to do so – she finds all her convictions overturned. Reeling in the aftermath, she wanders out in search of solitude and finds someone else instead.At first, she does not know what to think of her new friendship with Eadwulf, a young man from Rohan stationed in the Hornburg. Despite all her ingrained distrust, she finds herself opening up to him more and more as their friendship deepens. But when a threat arises from neighboring Dunland, leaving Frai in a locked-down Aglarond and Eadwulf on the front lines in the Hornburg, she realizes that her feelings run much deeper than she ever imagined.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Finding a Voice [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/939402
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like a lot of my other recent stories, this one started because of a fun thought experiment I had, and then it . . . spiraled. One of the things I love so much about Legolas’s and Gimli’s post-war settlements is their integration with the other countries and other races, the mingling of elves and dwarves and men. And part of the reason I love the Legolas-Gimli relationship so much is not only the idea that they cross racial and cultural boundaries, but that they _lead their people_ and others follow. And especially because of the collaborations between Aglarond and Rohan, I love the thought that some dwarves and some Rohirrim might one day fall in love.
> 
> So the intention of this story was to explore the idea, but then I got the idea that the lucky dwarf should be Frai, who has a bit of a rough time in a different one of my stories, [Bane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901823/chapters/39705609), which made the story take a much more personal and specific turn. And then when I realized I could build it into another story I wrote recently, [Nowhere Else](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263777), it ended up going places I had not intended – but the process has been very fun.
> 
> This story is heavily based on two other stories I’ve written, _Bane_ and _Nowhere Else_. This story will definitely spoil both of them and make a lot more sense if you have read them. If you don’t want to, and don’t mind being spoiled, a quick summary of each below:
> 
> Bane: Gimli is poisoned at a tenth-anniversary celebration in Ithilien. Nearly everyone suspects that it must have been one of the elves there, but after a week-long amateur investigation in which Legolas gets put through the emotional wringer, they discover that it was actually one of Gimli’s companions who did it with the intention of framing the elves. Not only did he betray his people, he also stole from Frai to do it (she had had the poison for medicinal reasons), and she gave evidence against him to turn him in.
> 
> Nowhere Else: a quarantine-inspired story that takes place against the backdrop of a potential conflict between Rohan and Dunland, forcing a lockdown in Aglarond. That fic takes place between the two chapters of this one.
> 
> I know this notes section has been absurdly long; thank you for sticking with me! Two more notes: first; the title was inspired by the Carole King song and not by [the other story for this pairing with a similar name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978819), but you should definitely go read that too! Second, thank you SO much to [DeHeerKonijn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeHeerKonijn) for being so encouraging and excited about this story. Without you, it would be nothing more than a vague thought. <3

The night air was cool and damp against Frai's face when she slipped out the back exit from the grand hall.

It was an exit door only, so it was not guarded like the entrances – she would have to pass a guard upon re-entry, eventually. Aglarond had many of these, built into all the gathering places: small doors that locked themselves once they had been closed, concealed from the outside so that none but a dwarf might even know they were there, once the opening was sealed. Frai had heard rumors that they were part of the cave system, used by men years past when under siege – but she had also heard that Lord Gimli had added more and expanded the design with a purpose: in case any visiting elf might need to escape into the fresh air.

She tensed automatically at that thought. She had resented it for so long – resented everything about it, and especially the notion that they might wish to aid visiting elves – and yet, was that not now the very reason she had found cause to use the door herself? The visiting elves, and all the complexity that came with them?

Indeed, she hoped none of them had seen her leave – or at least that they would not follow.

She increased her pace, up a twisting path of worn rock, weathered like an elder’s face. The caverns were not as far underground as those of Erebor or even the Iron Hills; she could feel the hollowness of the stone beneath her feet – but also the surety of it, the good rock that would not give way beneath her.

She stood for a moment, breathing in the relief of her solitude, and then turned to the path that led away from the caverns by the quickest route, in the direction of the distant Hornburg. She would not wander so far, surely, but she needed to clear her head.

The visiting elves. Yes, the elves visiting not for a celebration in the grand hall, but for a trial. Or perhaps it was a matter of celebration for them. Why should they not rejoice at their public exoneration, at the shame of all the dwarves who had suspected their involvement in an attempt on Lord Gimli’s life? They were innocent and one of Aglarond’s own citizens guilty; surely they had come not merely to witness justice, but to gloat at the downfall of the dwarf who had turned against his own and marked the deed with their names.

But no - that was not fair, was it? She ought not accuse them of gloating, not after all they had done to help Lord Gimli and suffered in the process. She had no right to fault them if they did, and yet none of them had sounded smug when they spoke to her. Relieved, perhaps; gladder than her own gloom warranted – but mostly grateful. Grateful to _her_ , for providing the evidence that had led to the true identity of the would-be assassin – the evidence that had freed them from suspicion and put Vinar into his prison cell.

Frai swallowed hard and lowered her head, increasing her speed as though she might outpace her confusion, her uncertainty, her guilt. She had suspected them for so long, had been even more unyielding than the rest of her fellows. Even when she had found herself unable to deny the truth, some part of her had still longed to have her own evidence disproven. Had hoped that the obvious conclusion might be found false, though the guilty party had confessed himself in her presence. He had used her, and she had fallen neatly into his trap and suspected the elves, and – and some small part of her still wished she could.

"Ho, Master Dwarf!"

Frai flinched at the voice, twisting instinctively to look behind her. Not another elf come to thank her! She could not bear that, not now. But the voice, though not belonging to a dwarf, had been too deep to be an elf’s, and coming from in front of her rather than behind. She turned back around and looked up.

And up, and up. The man standing before her was among the tallest she had seen – perhaps even as tall as King Elessar himself, but with much lighter hair and slightly broader shoulders. A man of Rohan, surely, though Frai had not spoken to many of the Rohirrim herself. Come from the Hornburg, perhaps?

She scrutinized him before speaking, guard-trained eyes taking him in and seeking any threat. Light armor, only a dagger strapped to his hip rather than a sword, posture relaxed. A soldier, perhaps – but not on duty now. It was difficult to judge these things in men, but his face seemed less lined than that of Elessar or even Éomer. On an elf that might have meant anything, but men aged, and this one seemed young.

His forehead did crease now, and Frai realized she had been staring for far too long to justify her lack of response. “Well met, I suppose,” she said – and then regretted it when his face fell further. Who was she to bludgeon another with her own frustrations? “Say rather, I assume you did not hail me out of ill intent?”

“No, certainly not!” He spread his hands out before him hastily, as though to assure her he carried no weapon. “Long have I wished to speak to one of the renowned Aglarond dwarves, but not yet had such an opportunity.”

Frai startled. “You have?”

Her own bluntness did not even register to her until the man flushed – so faintly another man might not have noticed it, but dwarves could see color as well in low light as they could in full. “I have,” he confessed. “But perhaps that was too forward. Please forgive me – I have been little outside of Westfold and my commander often tells me I have much to learn.”

The cadence of his speech was strange – correct but halting, tongue bumping against some of the sounds of Westron – but his voice was as earnest as his expression, and Frai felt herself melting. He had not deserved her brusqueness, and indeed, his eagerness put her own conflicted thoughts about elves to shame. “No,” she said, “no, forgive me. I confess I am poor company tonight. But I ought not let my troubled thoughts speak for me, particularly not to an ally of our realm who greets me in such courtesy.” She bowed to him. “I am Frai, son of Fróia. At your service.”

He scrambled back a step and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to return the gesture without encroaching too nearly on her space. “I am Eadwulf,” he said. “Son of Eadric, at your service!”

She debated for a moment the merits of teaching him the proper response, and decided that it would be a greater kindness to tell him now than to let him innocently embarrass himself later. “In dwarvish culture, you would respond with ‘at yours and your family’s.’”

He repeated the words as she bade him and beamed when she nodded approval. “Thank you,” he said.

Frai’s own cheeks warmed at his gratitude over such a simple thing. It truly did put her to shame. “Well,” she mumbled, “I could not let you meet other dwarves in the future without knowing how to greet them. Perhaps they would not be so generous.”

“Surely not.” But the amusement faded from his face when he looked back down at her. “You said your thoughts were troubled,” he said. “And it is true that I have rarely seen a dwarf venture forth from Helm’s Deep alone. Would you care for a companion? I would hear what troubles you, if it would ease you to speak of it.”

She hesitated. How could she speak of her troubles to someone she had only just met, when she did not understand them herself? “I would not burden you with my company,” she hedged.

“It would be no burden,” he assured her. “I am told I am a very good listener.”

She took a deep breath, prepared to politely decline once more – and then stopped before she could speak. She did not fancy returning to Aglarond, not just yet. And for all that she was not yet ready to speak of what troubled her, neither did the thought of wandering alone.

He did seem so earnest, after all. And – even if he were not – surely she could take him in combat, if it should be needed.

“Very well,” she said, letting out the breath in a rush. “I know not if it would ease my troubles to speak of them, but I would be a fool to decline a companion when he offers.” She gestured off in the direction of the Deeping-wall. “Shall we walk?”

* * *

The elves left a few days later, but to Frai’s surprise, their departure did not engender the lightness she had expected.

She supposed that somehow – for all they had been so few, only Lord Legolas and his second, and Duvaineth, the elf who always accompanied on visits – she had imagined that the elves were the sole source of her disquiet, that somehow it would ease once they had departed. But they were gone now, and still Vinar was here locked in a cell in the depths of the caverns, and that weight pressing in Frai’s stomach had eased not a bit.

She excused herself from her fellow guards’ offer of a visit to a tavern in favor of yet another walk alone outside – laughing off their teasing that their elvish visitors were leaving their mark on her and trying to hide the catch in her throat.

It was not so much the outside air she sought as solitude, the freedom from her carefree friends who did not seem to understand how thoroughly her foundations had been shaken – the safety from the casual jests that they might make without knowing she had been struck to the heart. And she could not blame them for it – how could they know, when she did not know how to explain it to them? When she could not even explain it to herself?

“Master Frai!”

As the days before, the voice interrupted her musings – but this time, Frai recognized it instantly.

She had been walking towards the Hornburg yet again, she realized, her wandering feet taking her in a clearer direction than her thoughts. And perhaps it was not solitude she had craved after all, for at the sound of the voice, some of the tautness inside her eased, enough that she could draw a full breath.

He was some ways ahead still and she did not call to him, but did quicken her pace. “Eadwulf,” she said, once he was near enough to speak without shouting. “Well met.”

“And you – in the daylight this time.” He smiled at her, a flash of white teeth in his broad, tanned face, and she remembered that men could not see color as clearly as dwarves in the darkness. “I confess, I had been hoping to see you again.”

“Had you?” The smile started somewhere in her chest, a glow of warmth unfurling up and out until even the corners of her mouth turned up. “And here I had thought you would see what churlish folk we dwarves are and rethink all your aspirations of friendship.”

“Hardly churlish!” he protested. She caught up to him and he turned to fall into step beside her, giving her a friendly clap on the shoulder. “If anything, I am more intrigued than before by all that you did not tell me when we spoke last. If you are indeed a representation of the dwarvish humor, I now know it as more complex and layered than I could have imagined . . . but any of my fellows could tell you I have never been known to back away from a challenge.”

“So you see me as a challenge, do you?” It was true – she had told him only a part of her thoughts those few nights ago, despite his pressing. It was not the dwarvish way – not _her_ way – to reveal so much to a stranger, however generous and inviting his demeanor, however conflicted her own thoughts. But he had been nothing but kind to her about what she did not say, and even now his teasing words felt less a threat than an invitation.

And indeed, he grinned unrepentantly back at her. “I certainly do,” he said. “And it would be my privilege to pursue it.”

* * *

“He was your friend?”

Frai wondered how it was that Eadwulf could pry such confidences from her merely by asking, merely by gazing at her with those light, earnest eyes. It was only their third meeting and yet already she had allowed herself to be teased into telling him the whole story, revealing more each time they spoke – spilling more of her thoughts than she had dared to share with anyone after the events of Ithilien’s anniversary feast. More even, than she had known she thought herself. “A friend of my m – my father,” she said, “and I had known him many years. I” – They had come to Aglarond at the same time, and he had promised her parents he would look out for her amidst the new unknowns that could not be trusted. And all the while – how long had he been plotting this betrayal? “I trusted him.”

“I see,” he said. “I can understand the hurt of it. My commander – he watched out for my brother years ago, when they fought here against the forces of Isengard. He is as an uncle to me, though perhaps it is improper of me to suggest it. Had I discovered him capable of treason, capable of using _me_ to commit it, I” – He shook his head soberly and gazed at her with sympathy in his eyes. “I can only imagine that violation of trust. I am sorry to hear that, Frai.”

The compassion in his face was unbearable, and she could not hold his gaze. Her eyes dropped into her lap. “You have a brother then?” she said, fighting to force a light tone past the rock in her throat. “Who fought in the battles here?”

“I do.” He settled more comfortably onto the low stone wall beside her. “He and my father both, and my sister served as a battlefield healer. My mother and I remained home alone.”

Frai winced. “How old were you then?” She had been too young when the Battle of Five Armies was fought, but she remembered her mother and father both leaving with Dain’s army to fight for their ancestral home – remembered that feeling of helpless frustration with her own youth, with her lack of skill.

“I had not even ten years then,” Eadwulf sighed. “I know now that I was too young, but then I fancied myself as fine a soldier as my brother, though he was my elder by nine years and my sister by ten. But they were away for weeks, called away to fight the Dark Lord himself in Gondor and then Mordor before they could even visit us.” His voice had turned dreamy, his eyes gazing off into some middle distance. “And such tales did they have when they returned! Moving, talking trees that tore down fortress walls; elves – we had never seen them before – who moved through the world like wraiths but fought like men when pressed – and” – He looked back at last and grinned at her – “a single dwarf who spoke with the tongue of a lord but fought with the ferocity of an army.”

A smile found its reluctant way onto Frai’s face. It was not the first time she had heard Lord Gimli described thus. “And this is whence your curiosity came?” she said. “About us?”

He nodded. “I asked to be sent here as soon as I was of age, for I wished to see for myself the truth in my brother’s tales – and perhaps to gather a few for myself.”

“Well.” It had been a generosity beyond her comprehension for him to listen to her, to give weight to her feelings of betrayal and loss. But this sharing was its own kind of generosity – a repayment of truth, a gift of trust. Still she could not look directly at him, but smiled at his chin instead. “I am glad you did.”

He clapped her on the shoulder and left his hand there, a weight whose warmth she fancied she could feel even through the mail. “As am I.”

* * *

“Enough!” Eadwulf yelped, laughing and throwing up his hands. “Enough, I yield!”

Frai laughed herself and let the blunt blade of her practice axe tease his throat once more before stepping back and releasing him. “So you see I do not unfairly praise my own skills.”

“Did I ever claim such a thing?” He bent to retrieve his sword from the dust at his feet, pushing sweat-matted hair out of his face. “But I think it is only to be expected from one with your years of experience.”

Frai brushed that off, but could not help the little bubble of pleasure that expanded in her chest. It was new to be considered thus; if she was not precisely _young_ among dwarves, neither was she considered especially experienced. “Well, you gave me a match, experience aside,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.” He laid his practice blade aside and turned to face her again. “Oh – you have something” – And without any further preamble, he was reaching for her beard.

Frai flinched back before she could stop herself, raising a hand to stop him. “I will – I can remove it myself,” she said. “Where?”

He withdrew slightly, a tiny furrow appearing between his brows. “Just to the left, below – yes, there.” He dropped his hand as she pulled a small clump of dried grass from her beard. “Did I offend?”

“You did not know; it is no offense,” she assured him. “Typically, touching a dwarf’s beard is a privilege reserved only for a spouse.”

“Oh.” He hesitated, and then ventured, “Do you . . . have one? A spouse, I mean?”

“No, I am unwed.” Something twinged in Frai’s solar plexus, a tiny jumping clench, a feeling that had become more and more familiar each time Eadwulf coaxed more dwarvish secrets from her. She had never thought she would be in a position to share so much knowledge of her people with a man, but decades of graven-in inhibition seemed to crumble away with every hour she spent in his company, and she could not entirely quell the unease it inspired.

“Ah.” He seemed not to know what to say after that, and they both looked away in a moment of bashful silence.

To distract herself from the uncomfortable moment, Frai continued to comb through her beard to see if it had acquired any more debris, and noticed that one of her braids had come partly undone. She removed her gauntlets and busied herself redoing it.

“What do they mean?” asked Eadwulf. He kept a respectful distance this time, but his eyes followed her fingers. “The braids. I have heard that dwarves have customs around their braids.”

This was a much more intrusive question than the beard, and yet – “It depends on the dwarf,” Frai said. “Some braids are for practicality; some for decoration; others make statements. Most patterns are chosen simply because they are pleasing, but some spouses will choose matching braids to signify their bond when in company.” Her lord had done it, after all, and caused a great scandal in Erebor when he had placed dwarven braids in an elf’s hair. “But some dwarves choose to wear braids as an indication of status or” – Her throat dried out as she realized what she was about to say, and still she did not stop herself. “Or gender.”

Eadwulf had not lied, that first night, when he had told her of his listening skills. His eyes sparked with interest – and was that understanding she saw there? – but all he said was, “Indeed?”

“Yes.” Her body was full of something soft and shaky. “Among our people, we – Our dams, you would call them women, or those who do not align with either gender, often go about as males among those of the other races. Those who choose not to hide their identities may wear a braid indicating how they would like to be addressed, should they happen on another of dwarfkind. But some – some do not wear such braids.”

She should not have told him so much! She did not know what had possessed her to lose control of her tongue all of a sudden, to confess such secrets to a man, no matter how close a companion he had already become! And she should not have given hints as to her – as to who she –

“And you?” he said, his eyes still soft and knowing. “Do you wear such braids?”

“No,” she croaked. “I do not profess my identity outside the mountain until I have come to trust those with whom I share it.” She swallowed. “But I suppose I ought to introduce myself once more. I am Frai, daughter of Fróia. At your service.”

Eadwulf inclined his head to her, but did not bow. Instead he reached out and took her hand in the firm clasp of men. “I am honored by your trust,” he said. “And it is my pleasure to meet you anew.”

* * *

“Eadwulf,” Frai said hesitantly, “I don’t – Perhaps this was ill-conceived.”

“Nonsense!” Eadwulf smiled bracingly at her without removing his hand from the horse’s neck. It was vast, much larger than the ponies the dwarves rode – so tall even Eadwulf had to look up at it. “She is the gentlest of all the horses stabled here. And to ride a horse of Rohan is a great privilege we extend to few outside of our own people.”

“With good reason, I should think.” She ought to be ashamed of revealing her apprehension, but Eadwulf had already seen more of her than most – and had heard more vulnerable confessions than this. “She must be three times my height!”

Eadwulf looked at the horse, then at her, with a critical frown. “Only two, I should say,” he said.

“You” –

She swatted at him and he dodged, grinning. “Come now, Frai, I will sit behind you and guide her. You need do nothing but appreciate.”

“Appreciate,” she said doubtfully. “I will hold you to account if you are wrong.”

“I count on it,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that sent the now-familiar twinge through Frai’s belly – a strange, not-unpleasant discomfort that put her off balance, drove whatever she would have said in response out of her thoughts.

And so it was that she found herself being helped onto the smooth, broad back of the largest horse she had ever seen from so close. A mounting block was needed to help her up, and even still she needed a boost from Eadwulf’s hand.

Once she was mounted, she swayed almost dizzily. The ground was _so far below her_ – and yes, she had climbed walls or rock structures before, but never before had she been elevated above the earth she so trusted, on the back of a beast that was such a mystery to her. She could not believe that her own lord was so willing to ride one of these creatures, even if an elf did sit before him, guiding the beast with his mystery enchantments.

But Eadwulf mounted up behind her – hoisting himself up easily without the use of the block – and when he settled at her back, some of the unease faded away. He was warm and solid behind her, as broad-chested as any dwarf, and one of his hands steadied her waist, large and sure.

“Shift your weight back, just a bit,” he murmured, “yes, just like that. Lean against me if you need to; I will not let you fall.” He laughed. “It is well I can see over your head, else you would have had to sit behind and hold onto me.”

Frai quailed a bit at that thought – of having nothing but the rushing air behind her, seeing nothing but Eadwulf’s back. And of having to hold onto him, the only way to assure her seat – she had never been one for such physical proximity, and the thought of relying only on her grip at his waist to keep her seat made her cringe.

His hand on her, to the contrary, was relaxed and reassuring – his grasp secure, but loose enough that she could breathe and move with ease. She had not imagined a man to have hands as deft and powerful as a dwarf’s, but his was both of those things and gentle besides. But her cheeks burned at that thought, and she was glad he could not see her face. “Enough jesting,” she grumbled, to take his attention away from her and her mind off of her own embarrassment. “You have me here; now show me what you will.”

“Very well.” With his free hand he reached past her for the reins, his chin nearly resting on her head for a moment as he leaned forward. “Put your hands on the horse’s mane – yes, thus; I will not let you fall, but you might feel more secure if you have something to hold onto. Now.” His weight shifted just slightly back. “Off we go.”

The only warning Frai had was the slight tensing of his legs – and then the horse lurched forward, and she had to restrain a cry. It was similar to the rocking gait of a pony, but faster and jerkier – and _so_ much higher from the ground. She clutched at the mane as the horse took off across the ground, and Frai swore she had never moved so fast –

“Swefen!” Eadwulf said. “Whoa, girl. Whoa.” His voice drew out the last syllable, and it was almost hypnotic – the horse slowed her movements along with his voice, from a trot to an amble, and then to a stop.

“Frai?” Eadwulf said. “Are you all right?”

Only when she opened her eyes did Frai realize that she had squeezed them shut. “Fine,” she gasped, “yes, I am – I am well.” But she leaned into him, unable to help herself; the steadiness of his arm around her waist and his body behind her were a warm relief after the spike of panic. “Do not worry for me.”

“I am sorry for that,” he said. “She must not have been ridden yet today; perhaps she expected we would begin a bit faster. I will be sure that she walks this time.”

“And how can I be sure of that?” Frai challenged. “I have yet to see you live up to your boasts, horseman mine.”

She had meant it more for sport than anything else, but his voice was dead serious when he responded. “I will be sure this time,” he said. “I would take no risks with your safety, my friend.” He hesitated. “Do you trust me?”

Perhaps she would have responded with another teasing jab – at another time, with another person. But the seriousness in his voice took her breath away, and she could say nothing but the truth.

“Yes,” she said, amazed that it was true. “I do.”

* * *

After that, the horse was as calm as Eadwulf had promised – indeed, even docile. She ambled about the rubble-dotted grasslands while Eadwulf and Frai chattered upon her back – conversations of the sort that had become so common for them, wandering from one subject to the next with the same easy grace as the horse’s own meanderings. Eadwulf would break off in conversation here and there to point something out or to change the horse’s direction, adjusting his hold on Frai’s waist as he did so. And whenever he did, Frai’s stomach would flutter and her cheeks warm, in that same pleasantly-uncomfortable sensation that was becoming – for all she tried to deny it – distressingly familiar.

Familiar not only because of its frequency of late, she was realizing, but because she had felt it before. Because, though she could not bear to form the word even in the privacy of her thoughts, it had a name.

When the time had arrived at last for them to part, Eadwulf slid down from the horse and offered Frai his hand. And, though she had never been one for smithcraft or jeweling, she found herself examining every sensation as would one working with metal or gems: the heft of his hand in her own, the rise in temperature beneath her armor, the thrumming feeling of a plucked string in her belly. Examining every facet of the moment, as though to find any proof that she was wrong.

She found none. And she did not think it was her imagination that he held on for too long, even once she was safely on the ground again.

“Well,” he said at last. “It was a pleasure as always.”

“And for me,” she said, and strove to mask the breathlessness in her voice with laughter, “even after the way it began.”

He laughed as well, a little flustered. “Well, it is my fortune that you allowed me the chance to make amends.” At last he released her hand and inclined his head to her. “I will bid you good night, then.”

“And a good night to you.” Her hand tingled. Her body tingled. “Perhaps I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Happily,” said Eadwulf. “Until then.”

“Until then.”

Attraction. That was what it was – that mystery sensation, dormant for so long that Frai had hardly remembered how to name it . . . and something she had never expected to feel in response to a man’s touch. Attraction – desire.

Desire, and more. For she had known _want_ before, and never had it come along with this fluttering vulnerability, this feeling of being naked and exposed before the eyes of another. But rather than covering up, she found that she wanted to reveal more.

The thought was horrifying, destabilizing . . . alluring. It was almost too frightening to consider – indeed, in any other situation, it might have kept her away from him for good. But, she realized now, the only thing worse than the thought of seeing Eadwulf again was the thought of not seeing him.

Until tomorrow. She would merely have to see what happened then.

* * *

But it was not to be.

She was roused the next morning by an urgent summons – all guards and warriors were to report to Lord Gimli immediately.

Talks had been underway with King Éomer, he explained, once they were all gathered together. Raids – if not outright attack – were expected from their neighbors in Dunland at any time soon. Plans were being drawn up for defense strategies, and in the next few days Aglarond would transition to full lockdown.

“Lockdown?” Frai repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly as it sounds,” he said. “Starting immediately, all non-urgent business outside our gates will cease. We will have a week yet to send messages and finish or halt essential projects, but after that no one will leave the caverns until it is over.”

“And when,” said Svi, “do you expect it to be over?”

Lord Gimli sighed. “That remains to be seen.”

“May I ask the purpose of this lockdown?” asked Althi. “What end does this strategy serve?”

“It is for our protection,” said Gimli. “Dunland’s quarrel is with Rohan itself, not with us. King Éomer would put as few people in danger as possible. Aglarond stands between Dunland and Rohan, but not directly in the way – they will see any activity outside our halls, but if we do not provoke them, it is likely that they will make no attempt on our gates. But there is another facet to this stone: if we do not present the appearance of defense, perhaps they might be more inclined to mount an outright attack on the Rohirrim – one they will be prepared for.”

“And if,” Frai swallowed, “if this plan succeeds and our inaction does draw an attack . . . who will be there to intercept it?”

But she knew already – before her lord even spoke. “The soldiers stationed at the Hornburg.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the second chapter! Between the two of these is when _Nowhere Else_ takes place, which also sets precedent for the Legolas/Gimli interludes in this chapter. (I felt a little bad for tagging the pairing and then not having them show up in the first chapter, but I hope there's enough of them in this one to warrant the tag!)

Frai chose the time of her departure carefully – at sunrise, when the light was changing and she would be hardest to spot from the west, and when surely no attack would be launched while the light was in their favor. More importantly, it was the time the guard at the gates of Aglarond changed, and her shift ended.

“Frai?” said Northin. “Where are you going?”

She had known it would be too much to hope she would not be spotted attempting to slip out – even the exit-only doors were watched, after all, by guards no less vigilant than those at the front gates. Her best hope was to bluff her way free and hope her falsehood would not be discovered until she was away.

“I have a missive to deliver to the Hornburg,” she said. “Lord Gimli wished to send word to King Éomer.”

“Through you?” Northin gave her a skeptical look.

It was true that Frai would not be the first chosen as a courier, but she would not be such a poor choice as to render her story unbelievable. She shrugged. “I believe I was the first one he spotted. And you know how he is these days – I did not dare tell him to send another.”

Northin winced and nodded. Lord Gimli’s moods had been sour of late. None of them could fault him for it, not with the pressure of confinement following so closely after the attempt on his life, but neither did they have any desire to end up in conversation with him, when careless words could so easily draw his ire. Frai had counted on this and was pleased that her excuse seemed to work as she had hoped – no one would wish to ask Lord Gimli if she spoke the truth and risk being the next recipient of his sharp tongue. “Best of luck to you, then,” he said.

“I will take care,” Frai promised, arranging her face into what she hoped was an expression of resignation and not desperate hope. “Surely I will return shortly.”

“If that is the case,” said Northin wryly, “you had best enjoy the fresh air while it lasts.”

Frai forced a chuckle, but said nothing further. She pressed her face to the peephole in the entrance, scanning the area for motion. Satisfied that she saw nothing, she lifted the bar on the lock and slipped out into the open.

The lock clicked back into place as soon as the door was closed behind her, and Northin had believed her story without question. There was no unmaking this decision now.

Her heart pounded wildly as she picked her cautious way in the direction of the Hornburg, darting behind piles of rock rubble wherever available and keeping a careful watch for any foe – but it was not from the danger she faced, nor from the lie she had told. This cold shock, this shortness of breath, had been her companions for days now – ever since Lord Gimli’s first announcement that they must prepare for potential siege from Dunland, and especially that the soldiers at the Hornburg waited to intercept any attack.

“ _In fact, I have rarely seen battle,_ ” Eadwulf’s bashful voice rang in her head – not for the first time. She had attempted to engage him, early in their friendship, in the time-honored tradition of sharing tales and boasts from battles long past, but when she had finished her first story and asked for his own, he had only shaken his head. “ _I was but a boy when the battles of the Ring War were fought here, and I have known only skirmishes against the occasional party of marauding orcs._ ”

He was skilled, of course – she knew it from the few playful bouts they had shared – and strong – the ghost-imprint of his powerful arm about her waist, his chest against her back, had lingered long after she had dismounted the horse. But he had never seen true war, and he was among the soldiers stationed at the fortress – among the first to intercept the enemy, should they take the bait – and she had not been able to speak to him before, had not been able to tell him –

A sound rang out, and she startled badly. Lost in thought, she had forgotten to mind her environment – an unforgivable error, from one with as much training and experience as she had – but at least her reactions were still quick. She dropped instinctively to her belly, flattening herself against the ground – a lower target for enemy arrows, should they be fired.

But no. She was just below the wall of the Hornburg now, and the voice had been one of a man of Rohan – a sentry crying warning. She ought to have seen them long ago – she was lucky these were friends rather than foes – but still she looked up from the ground into the drawn arrows of half a dozen soldiers.

“Men of Rohan,” she croaked, realizing her throat had gone so dry she could hardly speak. “I come to you from Aglarond.”

“That we can see,” said the leader, frowning down at her, “but we had no word you were coming and we were told we would see none of you. What tidings do you bear? Or have you deserted your people?”

“No,” she said, “I merely – I wished to speak” – She scanned their faces, but none were familiar, and she could not think how to explain what she wanted – what she needed.

“Peace!”

As always, it seemed, she heard him before she saw him – and the sound of his voice was like a drink of hot spiced ale on a cold evening, washing warmth all the way through her. She gazed up from her prone position and wondered how even in this most degrading of postures – in this most frightening of times – she could feel so content, even for just a moment, merely from knowing he was here.

Well, that she knew – else she would not be here with him.

Eadwulf was pushing his way through the crowd, resting a hand on a shoulder here and there, soothing suspicious faces with his own easy smile. “Peace, fellows, I know he – him.” He had remembered dwarvish custom, even now that she had trusted him with the truth of her identity, and had she not already fallen, she knew this would have tipped her over the edge. He brushed past the sentries with their bows and reached down to help her up.

From no one else would she have accepted such aid, but she took his offered hand and fancied she could feel the warmth of it even through both their gauntlets. “Eadwulf,” she said.

“Frai.” He glanced around at the others. “What brings you here? Do you carry tidings from Aglarond?”

“No, I” – She had not imagined it thus; had not even planned what she would say, and she could not bring herself to speak it with so many unfriendly eyes on her. “May I speak to you?”

He glanced behind him, as though searching for something, and seemed to find it. He and one of the men behind him exchanged a brief nod, and then he turned back to her. “Of course.” He moved his hand from her own to her shoulder and guided her through the crowd of men, back up behind the wall and into the fortress.

He veered a sharp left into a tiny alcove along the parapet with an arrow-slit – clearly for an archer to stand in and shoot, but it appeared old and not in use at the moment. It was too small for the two of them; their broad shoulders pressed against the walls and they were so close it was impossible not to touch – but Eadwulf made no move to draw away; rather, he leaned down and put his hands on her shoulders. “Frai,” he said. “If you do not bring a message from Aglarond, what brings you here? It is dangerous to venture into the open!”

“I know,” she said. They both wore armor, but she could feel the pressure of his hands against her shoulders, the rustling of mail against leather, and her stomach fluttered – worse now than before, now that she had finally given a name to her feelings. “I merely – I had no warning that we would be thus confined, and when I learned that we were to hide indoors in the hopes that you would fight an impending battle alone, I” – She faltered. “I had not been able to wish you good fortune.”

He tried a flash of a smile, but his brow was furrowed as she had rarely seen it. “Well, I am grateful for the sentiment,” he said. “But that is not worth the risk to your safety!”

“But you are.” The words stumbled out in a rush. Even confessing to Lord Gimli months ago about her unwitting role in his near-death had not made her so nervous, but now her heart clashed against her ribs and she could barely keep her eyes on his. “I could not bear the thought of you being hurt, without hearing – without my seeing you” – The words would not come out right.

“Frai,” Eadwulf said, and his voice rasped nearly as badly as hers. “Frai, I” –

The way he said her name – no one had ever spoken her use-name like that before, like the sound of it was a treasure on the tongue and in the heart. But he too seemed lost for words, and she supposed it was now or never, and – and if the worst did befall them, she could not bear it if she did not take this chance –

She reached up – and up, and up – to cup the back of his neck, pulled his head down, and pressed her lips to his.

She had never kissed such a smooth face before – he was not entirely beardless, but had only a smattering of stubble around his lips and chin. It was startling how easily her lips found his; there was no beard to tangle her hands in, but she could feel _everything_ : the warmth of his skin; the pulse beating in his neck; the way his throat jerked as he tried to speak, then relaxed as he sighed against her mouth and leaned into the kiss.

Even weeks ago she would never have expected this; even now she did not understand it. But she knew in this moment, with a certainty that went beyond thought, that this was _the_ kiss she had been waiting for. That despite all her fears, against her wildest imaginings, in this man she had found the other half of her heart.

When she withdrew at last, he lifted a wondering hand to his lips, the other still on her shoulder, and for a moment they only stared at one another.

Finally, he exhaled softly. “Frai,” he said, but she was not to know how he would have continued. A sentry’s cry echoed from the walls – a call to alert. The bait had been taken. Dunland’s forces were approaching.

“Later,” she said, letting her hand drift down from his neck to her own hip, to the solid handle of her axe.

He sighed, but squeezed her shoulder before letting it go. “Later.”

* * *

The knock on their door was loud, insistent, startling Gimli from sleep. Beside him, Legolas was already sitting upright and rigid, his head tilted slightly to the side. Gimli half expected to see his ears pricked up like a cat’s at the sound. “Lord Gimli!” came a muffled voice through the door. “My lord, Dunland’s forces have mobilized!”

Gimli swung himself out of bed, awake in an instant and groping for his clothing and armor. They were not to attack unless necessary, or once the forces passed Aglarond – when the dwarves would emerge and the Dunlanders would find themselves surrounded. But still, he had best be out there now and at the ready just in case.

Legolas dressed even more hastily than he, pulling his simple leather armor on over his tunic and breeches. Gimli looked at him and felt a pang that he had not yet prevailed upon Legolas to consent to at least a mail coat. He might be accustomed to light armor that did not hamper his movement, but these open spaces and rock caverns were different from the forests that formed Legolas’s customary battlegrounds. But Legolas strapped his knife to his hip and his quiver to his back and slung his bow over his shoulder, and Gimli saw him again as the warrior of old.

“I hope this is over swiftly,” he murmured.

Legolas turned toward him, and the same look of mingled wistfulness and dread flashed across his features that Gimli knew must be visible in his own. “As do I,” he said, and bent down for a brief kiss before following Gimli out of their chambers.

The soldiers and guards were all amassed at the entrance hall, crowding around the peepholes and listening breathlessly to the updates from the lucky few with a view out. “They are still advancing,” called a voice from the front. “We see no motion from the Hornburg yet.”

“My lord!” A ripple moved through the crowd as Northin jostled his way past dwarf after dwarf, making directly for Gimli – though the dread in his face suggested he wished he were moving in the opposite direction. “My lord, would that I did not have to tell you this, but Frai has not returned from the fortress yet, and with the enemy advancing it will surely not be safe for her to turn back.”

Gimli stopped in the middle of attempting to push through the crowd himself. “Frai?” What business had she approaching the Hornburg? “Why did she leave the caverns? No one was to violate the terms of the lockdown.”

“Do you mean to say . . .” Northin’s face tightened with dread. “You did not send her?”

“Did she say I did?” Gimli fought to keep his tone steady, not to betray the growing irritation – or apprehension. What was it with Frai that constantly tied her up in these diplomatic tangles? He had tried to give her a pass for the way she had responded to the attempt on his life only months ago – she was not the only one among his people who had suspected the elves, after all, and she had come forward once she knew the truth – but still he had not been able to entirely pardon her in the privacy of his own thoughts. And now, to hear that she had lied about orders from him to break their lockdown, possibly sacrificing their cover – perhaps she was the reason that Dunland now marched on the Hornburg! Indeed, what if they planned to approach Aglarond first?

“Yes,” Northin said, his voice very quiet now. “She said you had given her orders to carry a message to King Éomer.”

“And you believed her?” Gimli snapped. “Without verifying it with me?” Northin opened his mouth to respond, but Gimli waved him down. “Never mind. Resume your post!” With Legolas trailing behind him, he pushed his way through the crowd towards the gates, hardly noticing that dwarves moved out of his way as quickly as they could.

“You think she would have betrayed you?” Legolas said quietly, cutting through to the heart of Gimli’s thoughts as always.

“I am trying not to,” he said tersely. “But for whatever reason, she acted recklessly and may have put our whole settlement in danger.” He cast a glance to the side. “Keep your bow at the ready. It may be needed.”

* * *

The plan worked, from what Frai had understood of it, exactly as intended.

The Dunland forces bypassed Aglarond entirely, as though they had forgotten it existed. Perhaps they misunderstood the closeness of the ties between the dwarves and the men, or the lockdown had indeed misled them into believing the dwarves would not fight them? Frai wondered if she would be the only dwarf who had fought in this battle – she stood with the men of the Hornburg, having sworn to the commander of the Rohirrim that she would follow his orders, act only as he bade her.

There was no herald, no promise of parley. The soldiers fired the first warning shots from the Hornburg, meant not to hit, but the warriors of Dunland openly returned fire.

When they were near enough, the first wave of soldiers spilled down from the wall, and the fight was begun.

Eadwulf was among the first soldiers to enter the fray, and Frai’s stomach clenched at the thought. Never before had she felt so fearful before a battle – but now she feared not for her own life but for another. He was one of the largest men she had ever met, well-trained and well-armored, but still in her mind he was small before so many foes, the armor too thin a protective skin over something so precious. Any wound he sustained might as well be inflicted on her own heart.

She found herself wishing, watching the rows of too-small soldiers clash in the distance before them, for the eyes of an elf.

She stood in the back, amidst the ranks of soldiers from the Westfold. Still behind them, roused from their encampments behind the fortress, were rows of cavalry from Edoras, mounted and ready. For all that he loved them, Eadwulf had explained, he was yet ranked too low to enter battle upon a horse.

Perhaps that would change after today.

Frai did not know what she had expected from finding love, but she felt it would only be fair for her to have gained a new sense of him, of how he fared, whether he yet lived – that she should feel drawn to him like ore to a divining rod – that she should know which of the tiny antlike soldiers below was her beloved. But she could not see, and she did not know.

A cry went up from the soldiers in the valley, and the commander whose orders she had sworn to follow barked, “Advance!”

And then they too were flooding down from the walls, and battle was joined in earnest.

Frai let her body fall into the familiar motions – she might follow the orders of the commander for when to advance, but once steeped in melee there were no orders to follow, no instructions for how to slay or defend. Her body fell into an easy rhythm: scything with her axe, crouching beneath her shield at an oncoming blow, one eye on her ongoing fight with another glancing around at all times, looking for blows that might slip beneath her guard.

It would be easier if she had a friend at her back. But she did not know where he was, and she could ill afford to dwell on him now.

But – the battle was to be shorter-lived even than she had hoped. Before long she heard shouts of a battle-cry that echoed her own; ducking down behind her shield to avoid a blow, she looked up and saw the dwarves of Aglarond, axes and swords at the ready, streaming out of the gates with shouts of “ _Khazad ai-menu!_ ” Elvish arrows streaked into the fray as well – and for once, Frai realized with a jolt, she did not feel the instinct to shield herself from them, for she knew they were shot not by an enemy.

Never before had she so well understood her lord.

The plan had indeed worked exactly as intended – soon enough the cavalry from Edoras swarmed forward, the dwarves of Aglarond closed in from behind, and the force from Dunland was outnumbered and trapped, unable to advance or retreat.

When King Éomer rode forward, grim-faced yet triumphant, his blade and helmet catching the light of the late-morning sun, calling out an offer for peace, the negotiation that followed was easier than Frai could have dreamed.

* * *

That evening, the gates of Aglarond were thrown wide.

The mood was one of celebration – Éomer and Gimli had negotiated a hasty peace on the basttlefield itself; diplomatic conferences would follow to draw up more lasting agreements, but binding oaths had been spoken that no more blood would be shed. Their battle plans had been well conceived, and the tense confinement was at last at an end.

Legolas would gladly have spent all night out under the stars, but this was one of those events where he would be needed at Gimli’s side – for appearance if nothing else, but Gimli too had suffered under the days of uncertainty, and Legolas would not leave him to fend for himself now. And so it was that he sat curled beneath the open window in Gimli’s study, plucking idly at a small lute one of the musicians had loaned him, while Gimli noted down Aglarond’s desired conditions for peace, to be discussed with Éomer later. Occasionally Gimli would turn to him and ask his opinion on something – but whenever he did this, it was only so that he could talk himself into the phrasing he needed, and Legolas was well versed in asking the questions that would help Gimli work his way into his own solutions.

It was no more peaceful than any of the days they had spent in confinement together, Legolas thought, but made more so because of the weight of tension that had been lifted from their shoulders.

But just as he was pondering this, Gimli sat up straight in his chair.

“Mmm?” Legolas asked.

“One moment,” Gimli said. He rose and went to the door, then called into the hallway, “Frai? Come in here a moment.”

Legolas winced. It was not his place to speak up, but he could not help feeling sorry for her – he had seen Gimli after he had found out about her deceit, and it could not help but put him in mind of the occasional dressing-down he had received at various points in his youth for poor decisions or costly errors. “Shall I – go?”

“No, you need not.” Gimli waved Frai inside and closed the door behind her, then returned to his chair. Instead of sitting, though, he stood behind it with his hands closed firmly around the top bar and stared at her across the table.

She withered beneath his glare. It was remarkable – Gimli had spoken no words but the summons, but clearly her thoughts had already filled in all that he had to say. She had removed her mail, but still wore leather armor, and the braids of her beard were frayed and bloodstained. Of course, she had been in the battle longer than any of them, as she had fought with the men of Rohan instead of with her own people – and even now she looked harried and twitchy, as though she had not finished the fight.

“Well,” Gimli said. “I suppose you had a very good reason for deserting your post?”

She shuffled her feet. “I did not mean to desert,” she said very quietly.

“No?” Gimli arched an eyebrow. “That is a relief to hear. You may have slipped out in the middle of a lockdown, risked our cover and jeopardized our strategy, _defying my direct orders_ and then lying about it, but it is a relief to know you did not intend to desert your post!”

Legolas cringed. Gimli in his full Lord of Aglarond persona could rival – well, perhaps not Thranduil, but any of the other masters from his youth. The ice in his tone could have frozen ponds.

He was not finished. “I found out from Northin that you claimed to carry a message from me to the Hornburg. Would you like to tell me what was in that message? For its contents are as mysterious to me as they were to him!”

“I” – Frai closed her mouth and cast her eyes down at her feet, her cheeks dark red over her beard. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Forgive you,” he said. “Perhaps eventually, now that I have heard you did indeed journey to the Hornburg rather than to alert our enemies, as I confess I had wondered for a moment.” Frai’s gaze snapped up at those words, her mouth going round with shock and hurt, and Legolas wished he could disappear when her eyes flickered towards him. Surely she was not pleading with him to intercede – no dwarf would do such a thing, she least of all – but still it seemed wrong merely to sit and listen. This was not his time to speak up, but that accusation was unfair, not when Frai had done nothing to indicate disloyalty, not when she had indeed played the most important role in vindicating Legolas’s own people. He wished he had departed after all, despite Gimli’s words, and that he would not bear witness to her shame.

But Gimli was not finished. “It seems you gave a good accounting of yourself among the Rohirrim, and so I believe you that you meant no harm. But that does not absolve you of responsibility.” He glowered across the table at her. “Do you realize the recklessness of what you did? You put yourself and all of us at risk – for what? For your own whims? For a taste of rebellion?”

Her eyes were on the floor again, her voice unsteady, and Legolas wondered if she were near tears. “I merely – had a message to deliver,” she whispered. “For personal reasons. But I understand, and I am sorry. I will” – She swallowed. “I will submit to whatever disciplinary measures you see fit.”

Gimli opened his mouth, perhaps to tear into her again, but Legolas could bear it no longer. “Gimli,” he murmured, and his husband’s face snapped around to look at him, eyes still blazing with anger. Legolas froze in his gaze – how was he to speak for her without undermining Gimli before his subjects? – but to his great relief, after a long moment, Gimli’s shoulders relaxed and he sighed.

“Well,” he said. “I believe you regret your actions, and all turned out well enough. I do not see the need for any punishment, so long as you understand the error of your ways.” He stared at her for another long moment, and then waved a hand. “You may go.”

She wasted no time in fleeing, and when she was gone, Gimli stared at the open door for a time in silence. Legolas allowed the space of a few breaths to pass, and then said softly, “Love . . .”

“What?” Gimli’s voice lashed like a whip, swift and defensive, but as soon as he turned around he sagged and subsided. When he repeated, “What is it?” he sounded much softer, almost defeated.

Legolas set the instrument aside and rose from his seat to stand behind Gimli. “I think she knew,” he said, marveling at his own daring. Even a few years ago, he might have been cowed by this response, but he had seen enough of Gimli’s anger to know that this was not directed at him. Nor, truly, was it directed at Frai, though she had caught the worst of it.

Gimli swayed back, and Legolas let his hands fall onto his shoulders. “You think I was too hard on her?”

Legolas pressed his thumbs into the taut muscle between Gimli’s neck and shoulders. “Do you think you were?”

Gimli leaned into his touch. “Perhaps. But – she should have known better. She _did_ put all of us at risk, and after all our effort to cease all our activity” –

Legolas hummed, digging his thumbs in harder and relishing Gimli’s soft grunt of relief. “Indeed, the confinement took a toll on all of us.” _All_ of them indeed, Gimli not excepted. “Come here, my love. Sit with me beside the window.”

Gimli went with him easily and let himself be pressed into a seat. “That does feel good,” he murmured. “ _Oh_ – perhaps I was taking out my own frustration on her.” He sagged against Legolas and Legolas continued his work, pressing and kneading at the muscles and urging them to relax. “Do you think I ought to apologize?”

“Perhaps.” Legolas pressed a thumb at the base of Gimli’s skull, and Gimli let out a soft groan that sent a shivering spark through Legolas’s belly. “But – later, hmm?”

“Later,” Gimli mumbled, his head rolling back to rest on Legolas’s shoulder. “Later sounds good.” He made another sound, something between a moan and a sigh. “Legolas – that is . . . so good . . .”

Legolas laughed softly and continued his massage. Perhaps, once he had left Gimli well and truly pliant before him, he might get up and close the door that Frai had left ajar, and then they might move some of these papers out of the way –

Against his shoulder, Gimli let out a quiet snore.

Legolas let out another quiet breath of laughter. Perhaps not.

He hummed instead, easing Gimli’s head down into his own lap, stroking idly at his hair, and reveling in the breeze and sound of birdsong through the open window. There was time enough for this.

The celebrations were not to start until dusk, after all.

* * *

From her place on a high balconied corridor, Frai could hear the sounds of celebration beginning in the lower levels: the musicians playing the usual songs to welcome a feast; the loud uproar of voices and the clatter of plates. There would be feasting and song and drink late into the night, men and dwarves – and one elf – crowded together in the jeweled halls of Aglarond, to rejoice in their success and their newly-assured safety.

She could not bring herself to join in.

She could not show her face before the other dwarves tonight, of course – at least not the warriors, for surely many if not most of them would know of her betrayal. Neither could she bear to mingle amidst the Rohirrim. They had all been nothing but complimentary to her since the morning – impressed by her ability or grateful for her aid in battle; she had received many a clap on the shoulder from soldiers she had fought beside. Perhaps the praise had even eased her spirit, before – had made her feel that her actions had been of use to more than herself alone. But now, in light of Lord Gimli’s words, she would not be able to hear them as aught more than subtle censure.

And anyway, for all she had searched among them, she had not found the one she sought.

There were no dead – this the reason for the celebration, that the battle had ended so quickly that none had been slain. So she knew at least that he lived, and from what she had been able to learn it did not seem he was among the worse wounded. Again she felt the lack of that extra sense it seemed should be there, that she should _know_ how he fared without being told. But she did not, and she could not find him – and now, though she wanted it more than anything, she could not bring herself to look.

 _I know you regret your actions,_ Lord Gimli’s voice rang in her head again. It had been, perhaps, a statement of mercy, before he released her at last from his blistering ire. (It crossed her mind to wonder how differently the affair in Ithilien might have gone, had _he_ and not Lord Legolas been the one investigating.) But – but did she?

She regretted the worry she had caused; she regretted the risk she had taken and the lives she might have endangered. She certainly regretted that her actions had led to her standing shamed and silent before Lord Gimli in his office. But had she known that all this would happen, would she really have acted differently early this morning?

She stopped at last – ceased her aimless wandering and leaned back against a wall, closing her eyes to listen to the sounds of the celebration and trying to ignore the sick churning in her stomach. Why had she not found him?

“Frai.”

Because, it seemed, he always found her first.

Something cold sparked in her chest; the sound of his voice alone was enough to make her shudder. She wished suddenly that she had taken more care with her braids after washing, that she had worn the jeweled clasps instead of the plain silver.

She opened her eyes.

He too had washed up: his hair gleamed dark gold, hanging in damp locks around his face. He had left off his armor for the night, wearing only a plain tunic and breeches – none of the regalia a dwarf might don for a celebration like tonight’s, but the simplicity of his garments – the humility with which he stood before her – made something clench inside her. He looked pale and almost ghostly in the dim lantern-light and dusk through the windows, and it felt like the night she had first seen him – only months ago? Or all her life?

“Eadwulf,” she said, and her voice trembled.

“I have sought you all over Aglarond, it feels,” he said. “Why are you not at the feasting?”

She remembered again that first meeting, when he had promised his listening ear. “I did not want to face my fellows,” she confessed.

“No?” He came closer, but made no move to touch her, even to put a hand on her shoulder. “If it is any comfort, mine have nothing but praise to speak of you.”

She sighed. “Their praise is my shame, alas,” she said. “I cannot accept their generosity without the reminder that I put my people at risk this morning.”

 _This morning_. But that was what she truly wished to say – she did not want to speak to him of her shame or her conflict, not now. For with him standing here now, close enough to touch, close enough to rest her hand on his waist and feel the warmth of his skin without armor between them, how could she think of anything else?

“This morning,” he echoed. The thought of it drew her eyes to his lips: so visible in his beardless face, so mesmerizing as they shaped each word. So soft, she remembered – soft and warm against her own.

One of his hands drifted halfway up, hovering at the height of his chest, and then back down. He swallowed, and she watched the motion of his throat. “Do you – would you take it back, then?” he asked. “If you could?”

No. The word tore through her, certain and final, now that the time had come to speak it aloud. _No_.

“No,” she rasped. “Even if you would rather I did. I knew what I did this morning; I knew the risks and the consequences, but I also knew that I could not bear to lose you, not without telling you how I felt. How I feel.”

“Oh.” He reached down, his hand fluttering about her shoulders as though he did not dare to touch. “I would not,” he said. “I mean, I would not have you take it back.” His hand came to rest very lightly against her cheek, his little finger just daring to trail into her beard, as though asking permission. “I have sought you all afternoon, hoping you were not among the wounded, hoping to tell you that I think – I feel the same.”

Frai could not remember the last time her beard had been handled, and never had she felt such tenderness in the hands that touched it. Another memory rose up within her, of him reaching thoughtlessly for it and then withdrawing at her hasty rebuke. Had some part of her known even then that he would one day be granted this permission? She brought her own hand up to wrap around his wrist – and which of them was trembling? – and guided it gently down, letting his fingers twine into her hair, his palm rest against her braid.

He gave a little gasp – a tiny, sharp half-inhaled “oh” of surprise – and his eyes went soft, his mouth round. No one had ever looked at her like that, with such adoration, such awe, as though he could not believe he had been given the privilege to touch her – and Frai could bear it no longer. With her free hand she reached up for him again, the memory from the morning enveloping her senses – only this time he bent down to meet her.

Frai had not imagined it possible, but she felt this kiss even more intensely than she had this morning. Something in her _jolted_ as soon as their lips met – a crackle like lightning throughout her body, igniting trickles of fire in her blood. She was more aware than she had ever been of her body – of the stone wall at her back, the heat of him before her, the points of tingling pressure everywhere their bodies touched. She could feel the tug at the sensitive skin of her face and neck where his fingers had tangled in her beard, the outline of her hand where it wrapped around his wrist, the sharp prick of his stubble against her lips, a heightening contrast to the softness of his mouth.

He let out a tiny gasp and his mouth opened against hers; the sudden shock of warm and wet drew a groan from her before she could help herself. All thoughts of shame or doubt were gone from her mind; she could think of nothing more than him, nothing beyond _closer, closer, not close enough_. She let go his wrist to clamp both of her hands at his back, practically clawing at his shoulders in an effort to draw him down, draw him nearer.

He obliged, bending closer; his own free arm slid around her back and drew her against him, and she marveled at it – how broad and powerful his body was, and yet how pliable, how he softened against her, moved where she bade him. How he too made tiny sounds, half-formed moans and murmurs deep in his throat, whose vibrations she could feel against her own mouth.

She had feared for him, all this week without word, and then again this afternoon when she could not find him among his fellows – and now here he was, warm and solid and so alive against her, beyond her wildest hopes safe in her arms.

They drew apart to gasp for air, eyes seeking one another like scrabbling hands, gazes interlocking. She paused there, before diving back in, searching his gaze as though to find any sign of hesitation, of doubt.

She found none.

“Come to my chambers?” she breathed, hardly believing her own words.

Still she half expected him to refuse. To back away, citing the celebrations beginning in the lower levels – or to laugh, thinking it a jest – or to apologize and say he had not expected it to go this far.

He did none of those things. He stared at her, one hand still tangled in her beard, his eyes all pupil in the dim torchlight, as though searching her for any hint of jest. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and, unable to stop herself, she glanced down to follow the motion.

He let out a tiny, short huff of breath. “Yes,” he whispered. “Gladly.”

* * *

The journey to Frai’s quarters had never seemed so long before, not only because of her own impatience but because their progress was hampered by their inability to let go of one another. They stumbled down hallways and around corners, stopping often to clutch at one another again, gasping half-formed words against one another’s mouths in alcoves. Frai could hardly remember how to reach her rooms; her mind was fogged and even the memory of her body impeded by the sensation of Eadwulf against her, his broad body pressing her against stone walls, the eagerness in his eyes whenever she could tear her own away from his mouth long enough to meet his gaze.

But at last they were there; her fingers fumbled at the lock, clumsier than ever before. He had to bend nearly double to enter the room, and she did not let him straighten up again, but clutched at the back of his head, pulled him close to her again.

He kissed her back, but something had changed from the desperate grasping of the halls and corridors, as though the motion through into her rooms had slowed his urgency, cooled something in him. His hands on her body were light, uncertain; his kisses tentative where they had been hot and hard.

Her body nearly ached at the motion, but she drew back. “Have you doubts?” she said. “Second thoughts?” As much as she desired this, she would never bed an unwilling partner – and willingness was more than merely a lack of _no_.

He bit his lip – tender and kiss-swollen, and the sight of it sent a fierce pulse of heat through her belly and lower; her thighs tensed against it. “Not doubts,” he said, “nor reluctance, it is only” – He blushed. “I have never been in a maid’s bedchambers before.”

“I am hardly a maid,” Frai pointed out. He had thought her male for some time, and anyway he knew that dwarves did not draw the same lines that men did.

“I know,” said Eadwulf hurriedly, “I do not mean anything by it, only that I – I have never done this before. And I do not want to disappoint.”

The rush of tenderness that swept through Frai at those words nearly took her off her feet. “You are – you sweet fool,” she breathed. “You are yourself, and so you could not disappoint me. I expect nothing from you but the earnest passion you bring to all you do. I expect no more than the kind words and gentle hands that you have already shown me you wield so well. Anything beyond that is for us to discover together. Does that appease your worries?”

He huffed out a shivering breath. “Are these the sweet words that fall from a lover’s tongue?” he said. “I have never heard their like before.”

Frai pulled him down to her again. “I have never had cause to speak them,” she whispered against his mouth, and kissed him again. “And I never imagined that I would say them to such a one as you. But you are my life’s most welcome surprise.”

“I never thought to have the fortune to hear such words from one I admire so ardently.” Eadwulf pulled her closer with hands that trembled, but his kiss was scorching once more, his mouth eager. This much, at least, he must know. “Oh, Frai . . .” He kissed her again, and she thought that was all he would have said, but then he gasped out, “When I saw you this morning – I had taken comfort in the thought that you were safe, and then to see you armored for combat and outside of your haven, for _my_ sake” –

“I could have done nothing else.” She was sure of it now; all the consequences of that action had faded away, distant compared to the surety of what was right here. “A week I spent in safety, wondering about you, longing for you. I learned the shape of my heart in those days, Eadwulf. I” – But she could not finish; he made a sound between a gasp and a moan when she spoke his name, and then all words were lost.

She walked him backwards towards the bed, her hands seeking the fastenings of his belt. He let her undo it, fumbling with his own fingers to pull it free of the loops and toss it aside. The tunic beneath it was a simple thing with no fastenings – they had to part while she lifted it over his head, but it came away easily enough that the separation was short. And then they were at the bed, toppling over sideways onto it as her fingers sought the hem of his undershirt; wriggling together over the bedcovers as he reached for the straps of her vest – and then there was a dull thud, a shudder of motion between their bodies, and Eadwulf grunted.

“What” – Frai struggled to free herself of the tangle of her outer garments so she could pull herself up. “Eadwulf? Are you all right?”

To her surprise, he laughed. “I am fine, it is only” – He gestured, and, sitting up at last, she saw the problem.

The headboard. He had hit his head on the headboard. She let her gaze travel down his half-exposed body on the bed, but before she could get lost in pleasant thoughts, she noticed that his ankles were hanging off the edge.

“Ah.” She had never taken especial care to ensure that her bed be long enough for a man – had never thought there might be a need. And Eadwulf was taller than most. “Shall we – is there another place” –

“No, no, it will be fine; let me” – The flush in his face was surely no longer from lust; with a self-conscious smile, he wriggled his way down the bed until his head had met the pillow. Now his knees were level with the end of the bed, his still-shod feet twitching in search of some kind of purchase. He sat up, smoothing his undershirt back over his broad chest, smiling sheepishly. “Ah, perhaps we had best find another arrangement.”

“Hmm.” Frai let her hands fall from her undone vest and glanced about the room. There was a thick bearskin rug spread before her fireplace; she narrowed her eyes at it, calculating the measurements. It might do, if . . . “Are you opposed to the floor?”

He followed her gaze. “I slept many nights on the ground during my training,” he said. “Surely this cannot be less pleasant than that – particularly with the thick rug. And – and the pleasure of your company will surely make up for any discomfort.”

 _Sweet words from a lover’s tongue_ , indeed. Frai caught his hand. “Then you are not having doubts?” she said. “Even with all our differences? – I would not hold you here if you would rather go” –

He interlaced his fingers with hers and brought their joined hands to his heart. She could feel the planes of his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, could feel the warmth of his skin and the beating of his heart: thump-thump-thump, the pulsing of his life against her hand. “I would not,” he said. “I do not find our differences something to fear; always you intrigue me, and as ever I would learn more. As much,” he hesitated, his tongue darting across his lower lip, “as much as you are willing to teach me.”

She nearly laughed at the thought, but the seriousness of his face, the earnest hope in his eyes, stopped her. “You have already taught me more than you can imagine,” she breathed, and pulled him close to her again, her lips seeking his own. “If this is all I can do to return the favor, I will do it gladly.”

“You do not” – he began to protest, but her mouth found his again, and there was no more room for speech.

Their differences were many; long had she known it, and even now in the smallest crevice in the depths of her mind she was aware of all the trials they would face in time to come. But tonight as they explored one another – as she led him to the floor and stripped him bare; as he tangled his hands in her beard and kissed her tattooed skin with nothing but awe in his eyes – she found that those differences brought her only delight. And no matter what they were to face in the future, she could not trade it away if that meant losing him as well.

She remembered the hours they had spent on horseback, when she had first felt his powerful body against her own and dared to name her feelings for what they were – she remembered the feeling that she had never been so far away from the ground below her, the dizzy fear of falling offset by the safety of his arms around her. She had fallen that day, though she had not known it then – and now, in this moment of shared laughter and exploration and love, Frai could not bring herself to fear the moment she would hit the ground.


End file.
